Mess

Somehow I’ve become the mess you try

to straighten up

but never hide,

the watch you wear on your left arm

so proud as though

it still kept time,

the trophy from some childhood game –

its broken bat

and misspelled name,

honored on the mantelpiece –

once packed away

but now redeemed,

close to your heart the love you keep

with pockmarked scars

you never see.


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